


One Plié At A Time

by feathertail



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Ballet AU, Christmas, Fluff, M/M, Minor Character Death, a nutcracker christmas au, break-ups
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-02-10 01:37:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 8,957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12901188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathertail/pseuds/feathertail
Summary: All his life, ballet dancer Antonio Higgins has longed to be a lead on the stage in a professional performance. His dream takes him all the way from the small town he calls home to New York, where he falls for fellow dancer Sean, better known as Spot. Their life together is perfect, with Tony finally obtaining the lead he so desperately wanted, but then a family tragedy sends him home on opening night.This story centers around former dancer Antonio Higgins, who is raising his neice, Leia. When she is cast in the very same show that caused Tony to vow to stop dancing eight years ago, he is forced to come to terms with the life and love he left behind in New York, because Leia's artistic director turns out to be none other than Sean Conlon.Based around 'A Nutcracker Christmas' (2016).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The first few chapters will speed through time pretty quickly, as I'm just establishing what happened eight years ago, then we're shooting forwards to present day.

For as long as he could remember, Antonio Higgins wanted to be a ballet dancer. The obsession had started from when he had visited an aunt in New York with his sister Sofia, and she had taken them to see the Nutcracker performed by the New York ballet company. Although his father hadn’t approved, nor his mother really (they were more of the type who said boys should do football and girls should do dance) they did let Sofia persuade them to introduce him to ballet. “One plié at a time, Tony.”

 

He was one of the only boys in the class, but the most dedicated by far, practicing at home to his mother’s chagrin (he’d knocked over things too many times). Thankfully, Sofia always managed to smooth things over and make everything good again, telling him, “Slow down,” and “One plié at a time, Tony,” but then telling him to run off and practice where he couldn’t knock things over again.

 

When he graduated high school, he won Regionals for ballet, and was caught by a scout there afterwards, asking him to get in touch. Irving Hall theatre, New York - a reputable and quirky ballet theatre. Of course, Tony was adamant he had to go, but his parents said no, they didn’t want him so far away from family. Family was here, and that was where he belonged. But, as always, Sofia smoothed things over, and he could go. “One plié at a time, Tony.”

 

He worked hard, as he had promised Medda he would, and each season hoped he would get a lead, but he never did. Nevertheless, Sofia and her daughter Leia came to every opening night to support him, and remind him, whenever he started fretting, as he inevitably did, to take it “One plié at a time, Tony.”

 

He met one of the more senior actors, Sean Conlon, a regular lead along with Jack Kelly (they tended to alternate) at a party thrown by Medda one Christmas, when Sofia and Leia had come to see him in _The Nutcracker_ , minor a part though his role was. Medda had seized upon Leia, five or six at the time, and immediately invited her, her mother, and her uncle to her party.

 

And now, while Leia entertained with a ballet routine she had learned back at home (taking after her Uncle Tony, of course) Tony went to go seek out alcohol. And, woah, cute guy alert.  
“Hey,” he greeted, and the guy (who he now recognised as Sean Conlon) looked up.  
“Hi,” he nodded, and set down the wine bottle he had been examining to hold out his hand. “Don’t think we’ve met. Spot Conlon.”  
“Spot?” Tony echoed curiously. “I thought you were Sean.” Oops.  
But thankfully Spot/Sean laughed it off. “I am. Spot’s a nickname. Blame Jack - we grew up together - according to him I always had a spot on the barre when we used to have lessons, and told anyone who was there that it was my spot and they had to shove off. Hence, the nickname was born. Oh, you should ask Jack where his comes from,” he chuckled. “‘Cowboy’ Jack Kelly.”  
Tony laughed. “I think the only nickname I have is ‘Racetrack’, ‘Racer’ or ‘Race’ for short. When I wasn’t at ballet lessons, I built up my stamina running track for a while. And I was pretty good, if I say so myself, broke all the school records. Though, to be fair, they were _shit_ records.”  
Spot laughed. “Okay then, Racer, do you have a real name?”  
“Shit, yeah, sorry.” Tony finally took the proffered hand. “Antonio Higgins. That’s my sister Sofia over there and her daughter Leia doing the recital,” he smiled fondly.

 

“Alcohol?” Spot offered, and at Race’s nod, poured some of the white wine he had been holding half in, half out of the glass. “Shit. I really am not graceful at all.”  
“You are,” Race contradicted before he could stop himself. “I mean... I’ve seen you. You’re one of the most graceful people out there.” Well, that sounded even creepier.  
“Thanks,” Spot snorted.

 

“So, what’s your story?” Race queried.  
“My story?” Spot snorted again, this time into his own glass of wine (which he managed not to spill this time).  
“How did you get into ballet?”  
“Well, Medda, she’s my foster mom, by the way. Jack’s my foster brother. She started me on it, I quit for a bit, then towards the end of middle school, start of high school I was playing a lot of football, and she said it would help with footwork.”  
“Aka you did it to get the girls,” Race snorted this time.  
“Well, if we’re being specific, guys _and_ girls,” Spot contradicted. “What about you?”  
“My aunt took me to see the New York Ballet’s _Nutcracker_ when I was little and I was obsessed.”  
“Nerrrrrrd.”  
“So, it’s pretty obvious why I went professional, you?”  
“I didn’t want to go military, like my biological family. They were a bit nuts about the military. ‘S why I ended up in foster care. So I decided to go to the opposite end of the spectrum and dance around for a living.”  
“Naturally.”

 

At this point Race noticed the evil eye being given to him by a girl sat over on one of the couches.  
“Uh, do you know her?”  
Spot glanced over and sighed. “Unfortunately. She’s usually the _prima_ when I’m the lead, not Jack. We broke up a week or so ago. She’s still sour over it.”  
Race pulled what he hoped was a face of understanding. “So, does that mean you’re... available for coffee some time?”  
Spot chuckled. “Sure thing, Racetrack. Gimme your phone.”  
Race stared at him blankly.  
“You know, so I can put my number in and you can text me and then we can arrange a date?”  
“Oh!”  
“Yeah, oh, you spork.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race finally gets his big break

Medda Larkin, of the Irving Hall theatre, New York, was known for taking on... let’s say _ambitious_ programmes for her artists. Her production for this Christmas period? It involved two male leads, who were in love. The rest of the story was irrelevant, according to the media, who blew it out of proportion the instant they heard about it, declaring headlines such as

**_Ballet is GAY now?!_ **

But apart from the homophobic press and everyone else who hated the idea, it was generally well received, the LGBT+ community responding very enthusiastically, and Medda’s usual company were ‘hella for it’, to quote one of its usual principals (who was now on smaller parts because he wanted to spend as much time at home with the _cutest_ baby alive according to the rest of the company).

 

Choosing the leading roles was difficult, and she took into consideration inter-personal relationships as well as skill, as she had a very strong male section of her company, all pretty much equally balanced. But when she did sit them all down to appraise them of her casting choices, everyone was happy, most of all Spot (commonly a lead) and his boyfriend Race (who had been waiting for his big break for years). There was a lot of kissing in that celebration, and maybe one or two tears.

 

Rehearsals were underway immediately, and Race and Spot both worked extremely hard to perfect their roles, Race perhaps more so, determined to do his part justice and show Medda that he definitely deserved to be a lead, not just because Jack was off big parts for now (at least, he _hoped_ that wasn’t why he was lead only now). Rehearsals were hard, especially as the _pas de deux_ dances and everything Race and Spot danced together had to have a balance of control, no longer a man leading and a woman being led, no longer a man lifting and a woman being lifted, but a man being led, and being lifted as well. It took a lot of strength and technique, but Race and Spot were prepared to put in the extra hours; it was one of the reasons why Medda had picked them in the first place. They practiced in the studio, at home, whenever they had a reasonably open space to themselves.

 

At last opening night came, and Race was adding the final touches to his stage make-up, so that he wouldn’t gleam under the lights, and Spot was hanging around chatting to him. At the five minute call for the start of the performance, Race’s phone started to buzz.   
“Do you want to get that?” Spot asked, pausing in what he was saying about their plans for dinner that night.  
“No, it’ll just be Mama ringing to say she’s here and that she’s looking forward to seeing me,” Race shrugged.   
But as the phone continued ringing, rung off, and then started again, Spot insisted. “Race, you should get that.”   
Race huffed but left his make-up to pick up the phone.

 

“Mama, what is it? Don’t tell me you’re at the airport,” he joked, but his smile slipped from his face into a frown.   
“What? What do you mean, you’re still at home? Why didn’t you get on the plane?”   
Spot looked over from the mirror where he was touching up his own make-up, concerned.   
“You- what?” Race paled, and Spot hurried to his side, touching his shoulder, wanting to ask what was wrong but letting him finish the conversation.

 

But that didn’t happen. Race’s hand began to tremble, and tears welled in his eyes, expression crumpling into utter despair. “No,” he whispered, switching to his home language in his anguish. “Mama, no, please-”  
Spot could see the accident waiting to happen, so he took the phone before Race could drop it, and spoke quickly. “Maria, it’s Sean. Tony’ll call you back. I’m sorry.” And with that he hung up, and diverted his attention to his crumbling boyfriend.  
“Tony. Tony, talk to me. English, come on, it’s okay. Whatever it is, we can fix it. Did they miss the plane?”

 

He was cut off by the collapse of his boyfriend into his arms, and he hurriedly embraced him, worry racing through his mind.   
“Tony-” he started again, pausing as Race mumbled something. “What?”  
“She’s dead,” Race choked again, and Spot paled too this time.   
“What? Who? How?”  
“’Fia,” Race sobbed. “Car accident on the way to th’hospital. Leia’s fine, but she- Spot, she’s _gone_.”  
Spot shook his head softly as he pressed a kiss to the top of Race’s head. He’d met Sofia, knew how important she was to Race, his inspiration to dance, his biggest supporter, the most important person in his life... And now she was gone.

 

“You can’t dance tonight. You have to go home,” he decided.  
“What?” Race’s head shot up, and his face was red with crying, make-up streaked majorly. “No, Spot, I can’t! This is my big break, I’ve been waiting for this for _years_!”  
“You have to go be with your family, Tony. They need you.”  
“This is what Sof wanted! She wanted me to be here, she would want me to dance, Spot, I know it!”  
“You’re in no state to, Race.”

 

They were interrupted by a stage hand, who Spot sent to fetch Medda, explaining the situation. Medda came only a minute after.   
“Sean, Tony, I just heard. Tony, I’m so sorry.”  
“Medda, can we get Tony on a plane tonight?” Spot asked.  
“What?! Spot, no! I have to dance!” Race protested, wiping furiously at his tears. “Medda, I can do it, I promise.”  
Medda looked to Spot, though. “Can he? Can he do it?”  
“I’m right here!” Race yelled through his tears, looking between them. “Spot, c’mon, you know I can do it!”  
Spot shook his head. “I’m sorry, Tony. You can’t. You’re too emotional, you’ll hurt yourself. You have to go home.”  
Medda nodded. “Then I’ll go tell Jack he’s back on for this season. We’ll have to make up the family time to him.” And with that, she swept out of the room.

 

Race almost crumbled. But he took a deep breath, and shoved all his things into his bag, staring at Spot in accusation. “How could you? This was my break, my chance, and you threw it away! How could you do that to me, Spot? How could you do that to _us_?”  
“Because I love you. I can’t see you hurt,” Spot replied quietly, reaching out for him, but drew his hand back as Race lashed out.  
“Yeah, you love me. This hurts! You ‘can’t see me hurt’ - this hurts more, Spot! This hurts _more_!” He swept out of the room, tears once more flowing freely down his cheeks.

 

He would only know later that that was his goodbye to Spot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight years later... Tony is no longer involved with dancing, but his niece Leia very much is.
> 
> Monday: An old face

_Eight years later..._

 

Race was, of course, immensely proud of his niece when she won Regionals, following in his footsteps even though he hadn’t danced since that fateful night eight years ago. However, he was more concerned when proud when she was also contacted by a scout, offering her a place as quite a major part for a teenaged girl in Philadelphia, in the same show that had grounded Race’s career.

 

“No,” Race shook his head as he stood across the counter from his mother in the kitchen as she was chopping tomatoes. “Mama, she’s not going. I’m not letting it hurt her too. She’s too young, she’s fifteen, for god’s sake!” He flung his arms up in exasperation.  
“Tony, if you remember, you were in the same position as her when you wanted to go to New York. Do you remember what your sister said to me?”  
Race hung his head and nodded slowly, but his mother continued nonetheless.  
“She said that nothing in the world could stop you from pursuing your dream. This is Leia’s dream, do you really want to be the one to take that away from her?”  
“No, Mama,” Race admitted softly.  
“Then you go with her to Philadelphia. It will be good for you.”  
“Fine...”

 

Which was how they ended up clambering out of a taxi into a snowdrift, dragging heavy bags behind them.  
“Welcome to Philadelphia!” their driver called cheerily as he drove off, and Race and Leia waved before approaching their apartment building.

 

They explored that evening, buying, on Leia’s request, Christmas decorations for the apartment, Christmas presents, and lots and lots of hot chocolates.  
“We still need a tree,” Leia complained as they opened the apartment door.   
“We’ll get it soon,” Race compromised, and sent her off to bed. She had rehearsals in the morning.

 

Morning came, and Race rolled out of bed and into clothes, chivvying Leia out of the house even though his eyes weren’t fully open yet and he hadn’t had a single sip of his coffee. That changed once they were in the taxi, and he drank it as though he were a man dying of thirst, groaning as he finally started to wake up.

 

He did think he was dreaming, though, when he walked Leia into the studio where the rest of the company was gathered, and he saw who was addressing them. Their eyes locked, brown on blue.   
“Fuck,” he whispered, and pinched himself. Nope. Awake, unfortunately.

 

He tried to make a break for it, but had barely got halfway down the corridor before a strong hand caught his arm. “Race-”  
He stiffened, not saying anything, and Spot came around to face him.   
“You’re not staying?”  
“I think not.”  
“Stay for Leia. She could do with your support, tips and tricks, you know.”  
“I don’t dance any more.”  
That surprised Spot, and he let it show for a moment. “Oh. Well, still. She’s your niece, in a new place, new people, new show. She feels how you felt that first day in New York. You won’t even see me, it’s a big city.”  
Race sighed. “Fine.”  
Spot grinned, and Race glared.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tuesday: Race becomes a Dance Dad.

One of the dance dads caught up with him after drop-off the next day.   
“Hey,” he greeted, and Race turned.   
“Oh, hi?” he asked.  
“You want to come catch a coffee with us?” the guy asked, gesturing behind him at the group of other dads. “It’s a thing we do on Tuesdays and Thursdays after drop-off. The guys wanted to meet you.”  
Race shrugged. “I mean, sure. Sounds good.”

 

And that was how he found himself sat in a diner booth talking about their children.  
“And how about your daughter, what does she want for Christmas?” Race got asked.  
“Oh, no, Leia’s not my daughter. She’s my niece. Her, uh. Her mom died when she was seven.” Race scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.  
“That must have been so difficult for her; she seems to be doing really well.”  
Race wasn’t entirely sure he was grateful for the seemingly-patronising sympathy. “Yeah. She really got into ballet. Needed something challenging to distract her.”  
“I had to _drag_ my daughter into class for the first few years,” one of the dads put forwards, and that set off a whole chorus of ‘hm’s and nods. Race sipped his coffee quietly.  
“Did Leia’s mom dance?” someone asked.  
“No, no, Sof didn’t dance,” Race shook his head.  
“I wonder what inspired her to start dancing. She saw you, perhaps?”  
“Uhm, no,” Race shook his head again. “I don’t dance.”  
“Really. You never danced?”  
“I mean, a little, as a kid, but we all did that, right?” He slid further into his seat at the unanimous shaking of heads.

 

He wasn’t really paying attention to anything after that, staring at his coffee, and so didn’t notice when the conversation shifted, but straightened when he heard his name. “Hm?”  
“We just asked what your opinion of the new director was.”  
“Oh, Sp-Sean? Yeah, he seems alright. Good at keeping them in line?”  
Apparently he said the right thing, because all the dads were ‘hm’ing and nodding again, to Race’s bemusement.  
“Damn right. That man is a ballet master _and_ a war hero.”  
Race frowned. “Wait, what? He’s a war hero?”  
“Yeah. Didn’t you know? He served in Afghanistan.”  
Race sat back in his seat. He distinctly remembered Spot saying he didn’t want to go into the military because that was his biological family’s thing, not his. “Huh.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know these chapters are short but I want to break them up properly so you don't get confused with the different days; it's a lot easier to merge things in a film, grrrr.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wednesday: Spot seems to be following Race, at least, according to him.

Unlike what Spot had said, it didn’t really feel like a big city, and Race huffed grumpily to himself as he got ready to go to the gym on Wednesday. Not even including the meetings at the studio, this was the third time today he’d seen Spot around the city.

 

The first occasion had been that morning, when Race had stepped out of their front door only to catch sight of his neighbour-across-the-hall doing the same thing. And of course, it had to be Spot.  
“Hi Mr. Conlon!” Leia had called, waving, and gone were all hopes of trying to sneak past him quietly.  
Spot had laughed. “I guess I should have told you that the theatre owns this building and tend to put up its company here, huh?”  
“Yeah,” Race had grunted, taking a long draught from his coffee.

 

The second occasion had been in a coffee shop, and had gone spectacularly. They’d ordered hot chocolate to go, and then Leia had called out “Hello again, Mr. Conlon!” before Race could tackle her to the ground.  
“Sorry, we can’t hang around to chat,” he had excused hurriedly, grabbing their drinks and all but pushing Leia out the door. “Have to feed the dog.”  
“Our building doesn’t allow dogs,” Spot had replied bemusedly, just as Leia added,  
“We don’t have a dog,” which had earned her an elbow to the ribs.  
“It’s not our dog. It’s a friend’s dog, which we’re feeding, in a building that does allow dogs. And it gets very grumpy when it isn’t fed on time. You know, woof, woof, where’s my food, damn human, woof woof.”  
And then they were outside and Race could relax a little.  
“What’s up with you?” Leia had asked.  
“Nothing,” Race had replied defiantly, and clammed up at any other questions regarding his niece’s artistic director.

 

The third occasion had been barely an hour after the second, when they were perusing Christmas trees.  
“How about this one?” Leia had asked innocently, pointing at a way too tall, and way too pricey tree.  
“Absolutely not,” Race had laughed, then pointed at a very small one. “How about that?”  
“No, Uncle Tony,” Leia had laughed, shoving him a little.  
“How about this very nice Douglas Fir?” came a voice from behind them, and Race had stiffened before turning.  
“I don’t think so. Are you following me?”  
Spot had ignored the question, moving on to another tree. “How about this one? It could really _spruce_ up the place.”  
Both Race and Leia had groaned at the bad joke.  
“Oh, I know, I know, you’re absolutely _pining_ for a tree. Well, let me help you in your quest to _branch_ out.”  
“Stoooop!” Leia had groaned.  
“Hey, trees like this don’t _grow_ _on_ _trees_ , y’know,” Spot had protested, gesturing at a nice tree.  
“Okay, fine, we’ll take it,” Race had decided, if only to stop the puns.  
“Hey, I could help you get it home. Well, if _tree_ isn’t a crowd?”

 

Race shook his head to clear it of the memories, of how Spot’s hands brushed his when they were carrying the tree together, of how he looked when laughing at Leia’s jokes, cheeks flushed from the chilly winter air, of how- No. He grabbed his things and headed down to the building’s gym, quickly ducking into the corridor by the practice rooms when he caught sight of who was working out in there. Damn.

 

A pair of dancers caught his eye in one of the rooms, dancing beautifully, intimately together, one an extension of the other. It almost reminded him of how he and Spot danced. The couple finished and exited, taking the music with them. Without thinking, Race padded in, shutting the door behind him.

 

He didn’t need music. He just shed his trainers and socks, and got lost in the memories as he slowly went over the steps to the last dance he had ever danced, eight years ago. He didn’t need a partner, he had the memories, Spot’s warm hands wrapping around his waist, holding him as he leapt, gentle fingers trailing along his arm, a ghost of breath against his neck as Spot embraced him from behind, holding him close-

 

The dream ended abruptly, and Race grabbed his socks and trainers, making a swift exit. That had been a mistake. He didn’t need to get caught up in eight years ago. Leia needed him focused on her, and that was what he was going to do. 

Spot watched him go from the shadows, towel hung around his neck. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday: It's a not-date

Race found out from Leia on Thursday that Spot had invited them for hot chocolates and ice skating. Begrudgingly he had agreed, if only so as not to disappoint his niece.

 

But there was a reason he was stood on the sidelines watching. He didn’t dance, and skating was far too much like dancing for his tastes. He held out his hands to catch Leia as she slid towards him, though, helping her towards the gate as Spot followed. “You okay?”  
“Yeah, I’m great,” she chirped, tossing her braid over her shoulder. “I’m going to sit down for a bit, though. My ankles are hurting a bit.”  
“I told you not to overdo it,” Race reprimanded, then suddenly became very conscious of Spot standing next to him. “Can I help?”  
“I was wondering if I could have this next song,” Spot asked, in an almost reverential tone, holding out his hand as the band struck up _White Christmas_.   
“Oh, no. I don’t dance,” Race laughed, waving off the hand.  
Spot moved in close, taking his hand regardless. “It’s not dancing. C’mon, Racer. Please? I don’t want to be out there on my own.”

 

Somehow, _somehow_ , Race ended up on the ice, struggling like Bambi to stay upright.  
“Okay, I’ll take your word for it not being like dancing,” he huffed as he almost toppled over again, breath catching in a very different way as Spot gently caught him around the waist.  
“What are you doing?” he asked, plucking at Spot’s fingers.  
“Helping you not fall over.”  
“I don’t like you being behind me.”  
“Okay, then,” and then Spot was gone, but Race barely had time to feel the loss before he was in front of him, skating backwards, and holding his hands.  
“Spot, I don’t think this is appropriate-” he started, but Spot waved him off.  
“Relax, Racer. I ain’t gonna let you fall.”

 

Many not-dances and hot chocolates after, they walked home together, chatting merrily and discussing all kinds of things. Leia brought up what different decorations on people’s houses could say about them, Race the carollers across the road from them, and Spot all the different lights spread over the streets.

 

As they parted ways, Leia snatched the keys to their apartment from her uncle’s hand and dived inside, wanting (somehow) more hot chocolate. Race paused to thank Spot for the outing, and for being so good with Leia, but hesitated. Hanging around Spot’s neck, and over the top of his shirt for now, were dog tags.  
“Is that- were you really in the army? Because some of the parents were discussing-”  
Spot cut him off. “I had a good time tonight. See you, Tony.”

 

Race watched him go. He couldn’t imagine the Spot he knew joining the army, fighting, not ever. He was too much of a lover to do that. Besides, he’d always said he didn’t want to go into what his biological family were doing. And yet there was the proof of his service around his neck, hanging there like a lead weight that had come crashing into Race’s life, just as seeing Spot again had, only worse. What had happened to Spot in the eight years they’d been apart?


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friday: Race helps Spot out

On Friday Spot was lurking outside at a drop-off, and caught Race’s arm before he could leave.  
“Come in, please,” he asked nicely. “Tony, please. I need a hand, the guy playing one of the leads is having mechanical issues.”  
“You played the part, you tell him what do,” Race huffed, tugging his arm out from Spot’s grasp.  
“He plays your part, Tony. I don’t know it as well. Please?”  
“No, I’m not a dancer. I haven’t danced for a really, _really_ long time, why would he even listen to me?”  
“I’m not asking you to dance, just give him some pointers.”  
“I don’t know...”  
“What’s the issue?” Spot asked, pursuing Race down the street as he began to walk away. “Working with me? Working with another dancer? Getting involved with the whole ballet scene again?”  
“Uh, D, all of the above,” Race sassed.  
“Okay, fine, I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Spot sighed.  
“You’re in way over your head?”  
“No, I- you think I’m in over my head?”  
“Well, if you’re asking, I guess you must be.”  
“I just like havin’ you around, that’s all. You have... good energy.”  
Race rolled his eyes. “Thanks, coach.”  
“But, since you think I’m in over my head, now you have to help me.”  
“Oh, I _have_ to help you?” Race laughed.  
“Uh huh,” Spot grinned.  
“Is that a _rule_?”  
“More like a preference.”

 

Later, he watched the dancers perform the second _pas de deux_ of the piece, but they didn’t finish, losing confidence in the first lift, not even managing to get off the ground, the dancer being lifted grunting in pain at the uncomfortable hold. Race could see the tension between the two - they were an on-again, off-again couple, and today happened to be an off day.  
“What’s going on here?” Spot asked, turning to him as the dancers glared at each other.  
“Albert, you need to jump a little higher,” he put forwards.  
“He could bend a little lower,” Albert returned sourly, gesturing at his partner.  
“I still think you need to jump a little higher. I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”  
“Thanks, that makes two of us,” Albert replied, glaring.

 

“Okay, let’s try this again, please,” Spot broke up the coming argument. Reluctantly the couple did so, and Albert jumped a little higher, and Elmer bent a little lower, but they didn’t have the balance right, and Albert spun to the floor with a cry. He stood and limped towards the door, ignoring everyone’s questions of whether he was alright.  
“Al, wait,” Spot called, jogging after him.  
Albert turned to spit at him. “I have been dancing with this company for seven years now. You really want me to take instruction from a _dance dad_? He could have gotten my leg broken!”  
“Dance uncle, actually,” Race mumbled, looking at the two of them.  
“For your information, Tony danced this role with me in New York. He’s one of the most gifted dancers I’ve ever worked with. You should be grateful that someone of his calibre is willing to work with you.”  
Spot glared at Albert as the dancer huffed, unimpressed, and stalked off.  
Race looked up from the floor, saw the bunch of dance dads watching him, and stared back at the floor.  
“That slipped out, I’m sorry,” Spot murmured as he walked back over.  
“I have to get out of here...”


	8. Chapter 8

Race met up with Spot later that day in a coffee shop; he looked up from where he had been staring at his coffee as Spot sat down opposite him.   
“Hey. I’m sorry about earlier, I-” Spot started, but Race cut him off.  
“People are saying Leia only got the role because you and I used to date,” he came out with it straight away, poking at his coffee.  
“What? We chose Leia because she was the best - she won Regionals, for goodness’ sake.”  
“So you promise having her in this production has nothing to do with me.”  
Spot sighed. “I’m not going to say that seeing you again isn’t nice, but- if I had known Leia was your niece I probably wouldn’t have cast her because of what happened to us in New York.”  
Race turned sour. “You mean what _you_ did to us in New York.”  
“I didn’t mean to do anything but love you, Tony. To watch out for you. I- I thought I was doing the right thing. I believed in my heart that you should go home to your family, I-”  
“That wasn’t your decision to make,” Race glowered at him. “You have _no idea_ how badly you hurt me.”  
“You think you were the only one who was hurt?” Spot scoffed. “Whose life was changed?”  
“My sister _died_. I wanted to dance, that was my choice, no matter how nuts you thought it might seem.” He leaned back in his seat, blinking back tears and trying to hold himself together.

 

Spot paused, then murmured, “I know how important it was for you to dance that night. And I knew whatever I decided might hurt you, hurt _us_. And you were in so much pain, and you were so vulnerable... It was an impossible situation. I’ve been struggling with this forever.” He huffed a laugh. “You’re right. I should have fought for you. Your choice should have been my choice.”

 

Race didn’t look at him, didn’t speak for a minute. “Earlier, when you were working with Albert... he could have hurt himself, he almost did, he was so upset. That could have been me. I didn’t see it earlier but today, for the first time, I-” he met Spot’s eyes. “I knew you were protecting me. You shouldn’t be the one that’s sorry, _I_ _’m_ sorry.”  
Spot reached out and gently took Race’s hand, ignoring his text alert as it went off. Race wiped his tears away, smiling a little, sniffing too, and the text tone went off twice more.  
“You should get that.”

 

Reluctantly, Spot pulled away to get his phone out. Surprised by his messages, he lifted his eyes to Race’s. “Albert just quit the company.”  
“Oh no...”  
“Yeah. I mean. Finch’s his understudy, but he’s gotta get up to speed right away. I could probably do with a little help?”  
Race laughed. “’Cause that went so well the first time.” But he nodded.   
“Thank you,” Spot sighed in relief.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disaster strikes four days before opening night

Disaster struck with four days until opening night; Albert’s understudy broke his leg and, no brainer, couldn’t dance. Spot caught up with Race and Leia outside the studio when he came to pick his niece up.   
“Race!”  
Race turned unwillingly at the sound of his ex’s shout. He raised an eyebrow in lieu of speaking.  
“Finch broke his leg. I don’t have anyone else.”  
“Well, then. You’re going to have to find someone.”  
“I have.” Spot made a gesture at Race.  
“Oh, no. No, no, I haven’t danced for eight years. I’m not getting back on the stage. You can’t just expect me to step into a lead role cold! You know that’s not how it works. You can find someone.”  
“There’s no-one else I trust in the company.”  
“Then audition.”  
“There’s no time!”  
“Well, then. I guess you’re going to have to shut it down.”  
“Race, please, Tony. C’mon. I can’t lose this. I’ll never direct again.”  
“I-” Race looked over his shoulder distractedly, looking for his niece, who had wandered off to kick at the snow; he jerked his head back round as Spot clasped his shoulders.  
“Please, Tony. I can’t do this.”  
Race could see the utter pain and desperation in his eyes, but still he shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t dance.” And he called to Leia and, taking her hand, walked home.

 

Race was struggling with stringing fairy lights around the top of the living room that evening when there came a knock at the apartment door.  
“Lei, can you get that?” he yelled from his precarious position atop his stepladder, straining to reach the wall, just a fraction too far away. He tilted and tilted and tilted, and suddenly he’d gone too far and he was falling and-

 

Warm arms caught him, curling securely around his torso, one arm quickly moving to prevent the stepladder crashing around their heads, and then he was being set on his feet. Race opened his eyes and- of course. There was Spot, smirking a little, in the way he always did, hair styled perfectly, eyes twinkling, and lips curving into that goddamn annoying (but so attractive) smirk.   
“I know I’m attractive, Tony, but there’s no need to actually fall for me.”  
Race hit him, squirming out of reach. “Why are you here?”  
“I’m here to take you out.”  
“My niece-”  
“Is going to the movies with the girls! See you later, Uncle Tony!” said niece yelled, and then there was the bang of the front door.  
Race sighed, and Spot knew the battle was won. “Where?”  
“It’s a surprise,” came the reply, along with a cheeky wink that got him a punch to the arm.

 

It was really only out for coffee, and it was outside, but they were warmed up by the coffee, so the snow slowly drifting down from the sky just made the setting more beautiful, as did the rows of gentle yellow lights illuminating the area, with a nearby band playing slow music. They’d all but finished their drinks when Spot stood, ignoring Race’s confused look and question, and slipped over to the band, asking them to turn it up a little. And then he was back, holding out his hand for Race.  
“Trust me, come on,” he murmured.  
Race didn’t know why, but he took the hand, and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

 

He clocked what was going on the moment Spot led him to a clearer space and took both of his hands, and started to sway a little, face illuminated softly by the lights, and he began to protest, but Spot just tightened his grip.   
“Tony- please. Trust me.”  
And so he went along with the dancing, hell, even started to enjoy it, as it phased from slow dancing, intimate swaying, into a more upbeat rhythm.

 

And then they were dancing like they’d never stopped, alternating between leading and letting, a beautiful, fluid performance, as if they were one entity. They had amassed quite an audience, but Spot didn’t care, and Race didn’t even notice. His eyes were fixed on his partner, smile spread across his lips, arching and touching like they were back in the studio all over again, eight years ago. As the music began to slow again, Spot brought him in for a few last seconds of swaying and then-

 

Then they were kissing. It was soft, chaste, gentle, a quiet press of lips. And when they drew back both pairs of cheeks were flushed, and both were smiling.   
“Told you you could still dance,” Spot murmured, and Race shook his head softly before leaning back in for another kiss, to more applause and cheers from their little audience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally getting there!


	10. Chapter 10

Stepping onto the stage for the first time in eight years was definitely weird, and a little, if not a lot, terrifying, Race decided, as he stopped two steps out from the wings and staring at the empty seats in the theatre. He would be out here, dancing, in what, three days’ time. He would get that big break he’d been waiting for all his life, and yet his partner wouldn’t be who he had thought it would be originally; instead of supporting him and guiding him through all of the dances, Spot would be backstage, or watching from the sidelines.

 

He pulled himself out of his reverie as he heard footsteps behind him, and Spot padded upstage to join him. “Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured, reassuringly, reading Race’s mind as he always used to. “We’ve got the stage to ourselves until opening night. Come on, let’s walk it through.”  
“I don’t know why I agreed to this,” Race grumbled, but Spot just held out his hand, and Race reluctantly took it, walking to the front of the stage to shed their coats and shoes and socks.

 

Race took a deep breath as he stepped back from the little pile; he hadn’t stretched, but they would only be walking in, not doing any of the actual moves. “Okay,” he nodded to Spot, smiling briefly as he walked his entrance and they proceeded to go through the motions of the dance, somehow making it feel fluid even though it was disjointed.

 

At one point Race got lost in the feel of Spot’s warm grasp on his abdomen, as tight as though he were preparing for the lift that came there, but loose enough to reassure his partner that he wouldn’t actually attempt it. Race leaned back as his part commanded, closing his eyes as if entranced by something Spot’s character was whispering in his ear, when in reality he was just enchanted by the feeling of Spot again after so long.

 

And then they switched roles, back and forth for a bit, leading and being led, swapping and swapping again, until Race was the one with his hands on Spot’s abdomen, but this time he was distracted by how fucking _toned_ Spot was under his loose shirt; he could _feel_ the definition of his abs. He lowered his lips to the crook of his partner’s neck, as his part commanded, but then trailed them higher, lingering just behind Spot’s ear.  
“That’s definitely not in the part,” Spot murmured, but turned around in Race’s grasp in order to kiss him properly. “But who cares right now? Not me.”

 

Lips pressed together gently, and then feverishly, and for a few short minutes they shared each other’s air, nudging noses and hands roving over shirts before settling on hips or arms around necks as they finally drew back.   
“Should probably finish the walkthrough,” Spot murmured softly.  
“Yeah,” Race sighed, sneaking another, absolutely filthy this time, kiss, thumb teasing at the hem of Spot’s shirt but not daring to go further. “I wish it was you dancing with me.”  
“Yeah,” Spot snorted. “Like that’d go well.”  
“I bet it would,” Race protested, but Spot shook his head, pulling back again, tucking his dogtags back under his shirt from where they had come free after a few simple but fast spins they had done almost up to speed.

 

“Is that a thing we’re never going to talk about, or...?” Race asked.  
Spot clammed up, and didn’t even give an answer, tugging on his shoes and socks. “I’ll see you tomorrow for rehearsals, early.”  
“We walk back together, we live in the same building,” Race protested with a snort. But that was all Spot wanted to say on the matter, and so that was all he did say, walking out. Even as Race hurried to follow, it was evident he’d taken a back route to avoid Race on the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do let me know if you want to see any interactions between the characters in this verse that aren't in the fic already!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Race finally finds out about Spot's time in the army

 Rehearsals passed by in a blur. Every day, he worked hard with Elmer on his dances, but it seemed that every day they got worse; Elmer would stop him as he was doing one particular move and correct him, or tell him off.

 

It got particularly bad as they tried a lift in front of Spot in the morning of the day before opening night. Race jumped into the lift, Elmer caught him, and he arched his back smoothly, but jolted out of it as Elmer set him down harshly, more like dropped him. He stumbled, and thankfully Spot was there to catch him.  
“What was that?” he demanded. “You _dropped_ me!”  
“You didn’t arch properly, I couldn’t support you,” Elmer dismissed with a wave of his hand.  
“Tony arched perfectly, Elmer,” Spot cut in. “Take a break, everyone.” He beckoned Race out behind him.

 

“It’s like he doesn’t want to- well, I _know_ he doesn’t want to dance with me,” Race mumbled over coffee as they sat in the shop across the road. “He wants to dance with Albert.”  
Spot hummed absentmindedly, nodding halfheartedly, staring out the window, thumb rubbing over the chain around his neck.  
“Spot? _Sean_.”

 

Spot jerked out of it. “Yeah?”  
“Are you ever going to tell me about that?” Race gestured at where his hand fiddled with his dogtags.  
“About what?”  
“You. Joining the army when you specifically told me back in New York it wasn’t your thing.”  
“Well, I can give you my name, rank, and serial number. Anything else you’ll have to buy me a drink.”  
“I just _bought_ you a drink. Now cough up.”

 

Spot sighed, staring into his coffee. “When you left New York, I was hurting. I needed a change. I wasn’t sure what to do. With my bio family’s military history, and what was going on overseas, it just... felt like the right thing for me.”  
“Big change...” Race murmured, shifting closer in his seat.  
“Yeah. It was rough. I lost some friends. And that’s why I don’t talk about it.”  
“I’m... so sorry. It must have been hard, coming home.”  
“I felt disconnected. For the first time, I began to regret that I’d lost my chance to dance.”

 

Race lifted his head from poking at his coffee as Spot did the same. “So how did you end up here?”  
“Dance is really the only thing I know.”  
“But you’re not dancing...”  
“Yeah. Directing just sort of came naturally. I guess I got used to bossing people around in the service.”  
“So what were you, like, an officer, or something?”  
“I was... a gunnery sergeant.”  
“Ooh. Well, Gunnery Sergeant Conlon,” Race smirked, and hesitated, but pushed on nevertheless. “How would you like to come over to our place for Christmas dinner after the show? I mean... since we’re across the hall, and all.”  
“I’ll be there,” Spot grinned, nodding softly, and Race breathed a sigh of relief that he hadn’t just fucked up again.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's a spanner in the works

Race returned after his coffee break that afternoon which he'd gratefully taken after another trialling rehearsal with Elmer. He padded onto the stage, going to set his bag down and toe off his shoes when he noticed who was rehearsing _his_ dance with Elmer.

 

Albert.

 

“What’s going on?” he asked, approaching the couple as they came down from a lift.

“Oh, haven’t you heard?” Albert almost sneered as he turned to face him. “Sean asked me back because you were so bad.”

Race turned to look at Elmer, but his question died on his lips at the look on the other dancer’s face. He turned on his heel and strode out, willing his threatening tears away.

 

But flow they did, blinding him to the point where he couldn’t see where he was going, and barged into someone.

“Sorry,” he apologised in a mumble.

“Race?” He scoffed and turned away as he recognised Spot’s voice. “Tony, what’s wrong?”

“Don’t,” Race spat, rejecting Spot’s hands as they tried to hold him. “How could you? _Again_?” He shook his head and stormed out of the doors, heading who knew where in his anguish.

 

* * *

 

 

Spot stood, stunned, at Race’s violent reaction, but didn’t chase after him, instead carrying on inside to try to find out the source of his outburst.

 

He frowned as he walked onto the stage, disturbing Albert and Elmer’s dancing.

“Albert?” he asked, frowning, striding forwards. “What are you doing here?” His tone, like his eyes, were sharp and unforgiving.

“Elmer called me. He said how dire the situation was with Tony, so we thought-”

“No,” Spot interrupted harshly. “No, you do not get to turn up here, the _day before we open_ , after you walked out of this company! Get out!”

Elmer stepped forwards, crossing his arms. “I’m not working with that bastard. I won’t work with anyone except Al. He goes, I go.”

 

* * *

 

 

Race glared at his phone as it rang for what must have been the eighth time, displaying Spot’s name as the caller ID. And, as before, he ignored it, staring out over the ice rink, losing himself in the playing of the band.

 

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but he was jerked from his reverie as warm hands covered his own, cold, ones. He blinked, and tried to stand and get away when he recognised Spot’s face, but sat as his ... boyfriend... restrained him.

“Hear me out, please,” Spot begged. His cheeks were flushed, and his breath was short, as if he’d run here as soon as he’d suspected Race would be here (which is exactly what had happened). Race sighed, but nodded, and Spot launched into speech.

“I didn’t replace you. I swear. I don’t know why Albert was there, but I swear I didn’t call him, Tony, please. You have to believe me. I would never do that to you again, not after New York. I could never take away anything from you.”

Race sighed reluctantly, trying to avoid looking Spot in the eye. “You promise?”

“Of course,” Spot nodded firmly, clasping his hands. “The only problem is... Elmer quit. I don’t have anyone to dance opposite you. I’m going to have to cancel the show.” He dropped his head to hide his despair.

Race smiled a little despite the situation. “Lucky I know someone.”

“You do?” Spot perked up.

“Mhm,” Race grinned, standing up, still holding Spot’s hands. “He’s strong, handsome, ex-military...”

“Tony, no,” Spot sighed, trying to pull his hands back.

“Tony, yes,” Race countered, not letting him. “C’mon, Spot. You know all the moves, I trust you, I- I _love_ you. It’ll be New York all over again. _Please_?”

Spot sighed reluctantly. “You’re going to be the _death_ of me.”

Race just replied with a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was originally going to be three separate chapters, but I couldn't justify posting those tiny scraps as chapters.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Opening night jitters!

Opening night sent both Spot and Race into Panic Mode™, because, as much time as they’d spent preparing and dancing together, there was one lift that they just couldn’t get right. They’d practiced and practiced together, but every time, they faltered. Race wouldn’t commit to the jump up into the lift, and Spot saw the fear, and it was reflected in his own face, which reinforced Race’s reluctance to jump; they were both as bad as each other. The show started, and all was going swimmingly. The audience was loving it, Race and Spot both had amazing chemistry together, the dancing flowing like liquid mercury under the stage lights, so much so that sometimes you couldn’t tell one dancer from the other. Leia danced superbly in her dancing in the first few scenes, as a young girl in Spot and Race’s characters’ childhoods. Everything was going swimmingly. But then the interval brought the nerves crashing back down on them, and in the space behind the backdrop, they tried to do the lift, but it very nearly ended with them in a heap. Race, in desperation, sought out his niece.

“Tell us what we’re doing wrong?” he asked.

“You told me not to direct,” she retorted, hands on her hips, hair in a braid, and candycane in her mouth. She remembered when she had been told not to tell other dancers what to do – even if she was trying to help – because that was the director’s job.

“I’m the director,” Spot interrupted hurriedly, not wanting to get into a Higgins debate. “I’m telling you. Just this once. Tell us what to do.”

Leia sighed, but stepped in. “Mr. Conlon, you’re lunging a little bit too far. And Uncle Tony, you need to commit to the lift. He’s not going to drop you. You need to trust him.”

Spot and Race glanced at each other before back at the junior Higgins, pointing at the other, with a perfectly in-sync “So it’s his fault.”

Leia laughed and shook her head softly, bringing them both into a hug. “Just remember,” she reminded as she pulled back. “One plié at a time.”

Race laughed at that, and made to ruffle her hair, but she ducked. “Thanks, squirt.”

“It’s okay,” Leia grinned, moving off. “You got this!”

Race watched her go, then glanced back, pulling a face at Spot’s unconvinced expression. “Hey,” he murmured, fiddling with the zipper on the hoodie over his costume. “Look at me.” When he finally had his boyfriend’s attention, he leaned in for a soft kiss. “I love you. I know you can do this. I know we can do this. Okay?”

Spot sighed softly. “Okay.” His head snapped around at the five-minute call, and grinned a little panickily at Race. “Places.” He grabbed his boyfriend’s hand and tugged him to the wings.

 

* * *

 

 

The tragedy that had befallen their characters at the end of the first half of the show showed in their expressions and their dancing as both of them slowly worked around the stage on their own, mingling with the dancers with smaller parts. They were both in black, for now. While Spot danced alone on the front of the stage, the other dancers all but mobbed Race, a violent circle that allowed no-one to see how Race was changing his doublet. That is, until he burst from the circle like a fiery phoenix, reborn from the ashes, with the fiery streaks blazoned across the black standing out brightly even to the back rows of the theatre. The music picked up as he spun across the stage, movements sharp and crisp and precise, moving with a determined fierceness, just like fire. His dancing finally caught the eye of Spot, and they moved slowly into tentatively mirroring each other’s dancing from their sides of the stage. The music and their movements simultaneously began to speed up, and then they bounded across the stage, Race leaping into the air in the lift they had never quite managed to perfect, his heart jolting for a second in fear, but it evaporated the instant Spot’s hands wrapped securely around his abdomen, holding him as he spun them, then lowered him gently to the ground so they were equal (more or less) in height. Then they were back to the same old dancing together, in a dance they had practiced a thousand times, spinning in jubilation across the stage to the wonder of the other dancers (one of whom hadn’t managed to contain his awe at the success of the leap, his jaw was still hanging open). During their brief spell off-stage during the next dance, Spot donned a matching doublet, and as they entered for their final dances, neither could take their eyes off the other, dancing like there was no-one else in the room apart from them, dancing their characters just as madly in love as they were, and the emotion behind the characters’ proposal was just as true as Spot’s would be when he finally worked up the courage over the Christmas dinner he was scheduled to enjoy at Race and Leia’s apartment. It would have been a long time coming.

 

Tears were aplenty that night on the final bows, with Race looking out into the audience to receive the recognition he deserved eight years ago, seeing his mother in the front row (Spot’s doing, no doubt) with tears in her eyes, and in her expression, the pride and love of Sofia, in whose name both Race and Leia had danced. But Race didn’t take all the credit, as he pushed Spot forwards for a bow on his own, pride and love swelling in his heart as he watched his boyfriend take in just how much he was loved and appreciated by this great crowd. This run was going to be a good one, he could feel it. But there was no need to rush it, they would deal with it as they had always dealt with it…

 

One plié at a time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has been such a long time coming, but I lost my computer and all the data and I've recently been caught up with exams and stress and everything! I really wasn't expecting to finish this story with this chapter, but as I was writing, it felt like it was coming to a very natural conclusion, and I hope that reflects well? I'd love feedback on this whole story, and I would definitely be tempted to continue this 'verse if people are interested and/or can prompt me!
> 
> If you'd like to help out a student and help me find more time for my writing, I have a Ko-fi, a Patreon, and a Redbubble, all of which can be found on my art/fic tumblr, featherstripe.tumblr.com 
> 
> Thank you all so much for sticking with me, I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> Thoughts?


End file.
